Royal Lockdown

by Rebecca York

  Almost time to go into action.

  Around him, a dozen staffers were busy doing their jobs. Most of them worked for the catering company. But others had been added to the roster because the party was large.

  Everyone here tonight had undergone a rigorous security check, given the high-level guest list. Still, his fake credentials had held up perfectly. As had those of the three other men working with him.

  One of them gave him a quick look and put down his own tray.

  Unfortunately, the waitstaff manager noticed that two of his workers were slacking off.

  Striding across the room, he demanded, “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “On break.”

  “You’re not scheduled for a break.”

  “Sorry.” The imposter strove to keep his voice even. “Come over here. I want to show you something.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t describe it. You have to see it for yourself. It’s right over here.”

  Walking purposefully, he led the manager into an alcove off the service area where the staff bathrooms were located, then grabbed the man by the hair, tipped back his head and slashed a knife across his throat.

  The assault was over in seconds. Before the imposter could drag the manager into a closet, an unfortunate kitchen worker chose that moment to step out of the bathroom.

  When he saw the tuxedo-clad man lying in a pool of blood on the tile floor, he gasped and tried to jump back into the safety of the men’s room. But another one of the conspirators was already on him, taking him out like the first victim.

  The first victim. It felt good to think those words.

  The night’s real mission had begun. And before the sun rose, there would be a lot of important names added to the victims list.

  Two more bogus waiters joined the men who had stepped into the alcove. They dragged the dead men into the bathroom and dumped them by the urinals.

  They also retrieved the bags with their automatic weapons, night-vision goggles and gas masks from the bottom of the waste bins.

  Then, by mutual agreement, they turned to the mirror and began to remove the disguises they’d been wearing. One pulled off his glasses and mustache. The other tossed into the trash bin his false nose, cheek pads and the appliance that changed the shape of his mouth.

  As soon as they were back in the hallway, the other two men disappeared into the bathroom and performed similar operations—quietly and efficiently, the way they had practiced.

  Soon all four of them were standing in the hallway—Uzis in hand—waiting for the signal.

  The youngest of the conspirators shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “How much longer before we make our move?”

  The man who had dispatched the catering manager gave him an indulgent look.

  “Any minute now.” The speaker made an effort to sound calm, but he could hear the tension in his own voice, could feel adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream. They had planned carefully for this night. They had taken every contingency into consideration. Now they were ready—as soon as they got the order to move out.

  If any other unfortunate employee had to go to the bathroom before the mission went down, then he’d end up like the two men already lying dead on the floor.

  SHANE WAS USED TO GETTING what he wanted. He had wanted to dance with Ariana LeBron and now she was in his arms. But he found he wanted far more than one or two dances. He knew he was letting a fantasy carry him away. The heir to the Beau Pays throne wasn’t going to get involved with a guy who’d been raised in a series of foster homes.

  Even in the U.S., where you were supposed to be able to improve your station in life by talent and hard work, he still felt like an outsider in a group like this. Even if he didn’t look like an outsider.

  In Europe, he knew things were different. If you were born on the wrong side of the tracks, you didn’t end up getting cozy with royalty.

  But tonight he wasn’t going to bow to convention. He’d pulled off a damn slick coup a few minutes ago, and he was going to celebrate his success by enjoying the woman in his arms.

  She was so delicate, so beautiful, and she had a sharp mind. He always liked that in a bed partner.

  Bed partner!

  In your dreams, Peters.

  “Have you seen the Danube?” she asked.

  The question threw him, and he struggled to bring it into context. Then the music registered on him. “The Blue Danube” waltz.

  “Yes. I saw the river when I was in Vienna. And Bratislava.”

  “Not many Westerners have visited Bratislava.”

  “I was on an assignment.” He didn’t elaborate, since he’d been working for Eclipse, shutting down a weapons-smuggling operation that had ferried former Soviet armaments from Prague to Austria where they’d found their way to various terrorist groups in Western Europe.

  He couldn’t talk about that, or any of his Eclipse missions, so he circled back to her original question. “I was disappointed to see that the river was more gray than blue. Of course, that might be different in summer.”

  Just then, Shane felt a buzzing sensation and thought for a moment that it came from his reaction to Ariana. Then he realized he was feeling the vibration of his cell phone. A text message was coming in, and he should take a look at it.

  But he wasn’t here on business. At least not anybody’s business besides his own. So he ignored the phone and let himself drift on the buzzing sensations in his brain, sensations created by the woman in his arms.

  He’d inched her closer to him, so that his cheek was pressed to hers. Her delicate skin felt wonderful against his face, and if the dance floor had been less crowded, he would have closed his eyes, the better to concentrate on the feel of her body, her scent, the small hand that rested on his shoulder.

  Over the years, he had enjoyed the company of many women. But he had never let a relationship knock him off his pins. Tonight, though, he was having trouble breathing and thinking straight as he held Ariana LeBron in his arms.

  Some part of his mind shouted that this was the wrong woman for him. The wrong time. The wrong place. He was crazy to be thinking of starting anything with her.

  Yet his mind kept zinging back to that electric moment when they’d first touched. From her shocked expression, he knew he hadn’t been the only one who’d felt that thrill of discovery.

  She could have backed away from him then, but she’d joined him on the dance floor. He knew that she could have easily put some distance between them. Instead she allowed him to press her body against his as they moved in time to the music. It flitted through his thoughts that she might be having the same problems as he was.

  His mind ventured further into forbidden territory. Could you go to jail for kissing a princess?

  Probably. But that wouldn’t happen unless she made a fuss later. And if he kissed her, he’d make sure she had nothing to complain about.

  He looked around the reception room, seeing men and women enjoying themselves. Polite enjoyment. Nothing you couldn’t show on the late news this evening.

  He, on the other hand, was going up in flames on the dance floor.

  So was there any chance in hell of getting her off alone, without that muscle-bound bodyguard hovering over them?

  To do what? Steal a few kisses? That wouldn’t be enough. Not hardly. But he’d probably have to settle for mouth-to-mouth intimacy.

  He stopped thinking about the wisdom of his decision as he moved them across the dance floor, putting as many couples as possible between Ariana and the hulking Manfred.

  He looked toward the balcony. If they went out there, they’d be alone. Of course, the huge windows were a problem. But if they moved around the corner, they’d be blocked by a wall.

  He had almost reached his goal when the lights flickered out again.

  Ariana straightened and drew in a small breath.

  “They came back on last time,” she whispered.

  “Yeah. Give
it a minute,” he said reassuringly, hoping that this was another false alarm.

  He waited with his heart pounding inside his chest. When the lights stayed out, he knew that the first flickering of the electricity had only been a warning of worse to come.

  Because this was the disaster he had sensed was coming his way when he’d first stepped into the reception hall.

  Chapter Three

  Maybe this was just another snafu on the part of Boston Power and Light. Or maybe it wasn’t.

  Regardless, the blackout was an instant security nightmare.

  Shane wondered what FBI agent Ben Parker was thinking now. He’d been so sure that everything was under control when the lights had come back on. At the moment, he must be struggling for bladder control.

  Shane looked at the foreign dignitaries around him, now visible only in shadow. With President Stack and Vice President Davis in attendance, the building, he knew, would be on lockdown. Nobody was going in or out until the Secret Service said it was safe to move.

  Unless it turned out there was some hidden danger right here in this room. Like a bomb.

  Various scenarios flashed through his mind as he instinctively moved to protect the woman in his arms.

  He inclined his head so that his mouth was against her ear. “We have to get out of the middle of the floor.”

  “Yes.”

  Obviously she’d had disaster training, and she made no protest as he led her toward the side of the dance floor.

  She turned her head to say in a low voice, “I’ve got to get back to Manfred.”

  “Not yet. It’s too dangerous to move around until we know what’s going on and how the people here react.”

  She raised her head, and he saw her taking in the room and the suddenly darkened world beyond the Hancock Tower.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Last time, it was a minor problem at the power company,” he answered. He didn’t want to alarm Ariana, but he’d had a bad feeling about this reception, and he wished he’d paid attention to his instincts.

  At the moment, his gut was telling him that the blackout wasn’t the result of faulty power-company equipment. The emergency was focused on this building. This event.

  Nervous chatter had broken out among the guests at the party, and Shane was pretty sure that the Secret Service had already gotten the president and vice president into a secure location.

  But he recognized the symptoms of panic and knew the crowd was on the verge of chaos. As if to prove the point, one of the female guests started screaming.

  “Stop it!” a man shouted.

  Ignoring him, she broke away from the crowd and ran toward the balcony doors.

  “Dora, come back,” her companion ordered, then rushed after her.

  Still too panicked, she flung the doors open and dashed outside.

  “You have to get her back in,” Ariana whispered. “Before she does something…dangerous.”

  Shane was torn. He wanted to stay by the princess, in case the formally dressed men and women here turned into a mob. Before he was forced to make a decision, Secret Service agents grabbed the escapee and dragged her back inside.

  One of the agents raised his voice. “Everybody, stay cool. We have the situation under control.”

  Let’s hope so, Shane muttered to himself.

  In the flickering light from one of the candles, Shane recognized a tall man standing near him. It was another one of the agents who had earlier spread out through the crowd. “Shane Peters, from Executive Security,” he said, as though he were on assignment here and not just one of the guests. “I have Princess Ariana LeBron with me. Can you give me a status report?”

  “My communications networks say that the blackout has hit the entire city,” the man said. “And many of the suburban areas.”

  “I think it’s focused on this reception,” Shane answered, pitching his voice low so as not to further alarm anybody nearby.

  “How could that be? The whole city’s involved,” the man snapped.

  “It’s a diversionary tactic,” Shane answered. “And it keeps rescue operations from zeroing in on us.”

  “Interesting scenario,” the agent said, then took several steps away, cutting off the conversation and signaling what he thought of Shane’s theory.

  Shane swallowed the curse that rose to his lips. It made him furious when people who should know better had tunnel vision.

  Next to him, Ariana shuddered, and he turned his attention back to her. “You think we’re under attack?” she whispered.

  He stroked a hand slowly along her arm, feeling the goose bumps that peppered her skin. They hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. “I hope not. But I think we have to act that way. Stay with me.”

  “All right.”

  Reaching down, he linked his fingers with hers. Her hand was even colder than her arm, and he gave her a reassuring squeeze.

  “We have to get out of here,” she murmured.

  He signaled his regret by the tone of his voice. “I don’t think we can. The building’s no doubt on lockdown.”

  She sucked in a strangled breath. “How long do we have to stay in this room?”

  “Until the power comes back on. But believe me, it’s not any safer outside the building. There’ll be cars stuck, traffic jams, road rage, looters and people going berserk because they’re terrified that this is another terrorist attack.”

  Her voice turned high and strained. “Do you think it is a terrorist attack?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

  As if to confirm his grim assessment of the situation, the sound of several car horns drifted toward them from the street, followed by the sound of a gunshot.

  Ariana shuddered. “That was a gun.”

  “Yes.”

  She kept her face straight ahead and spoke in a low voice. “Are you armed?”

  He suppressed a frustrated sound. “I wish I were. But I couldn’t get through security with a weapon.”

  “So you’re not on duty tonight.”

  “No. I’m just a guest.”

  Before he could make another comment, his phone vibrated again, reminding him that he’d received a text message earlier and had ignored it because he’d been too focused on Ariana.

  Pulling out his phone, he flipped up the top and read the message.

  Are you afraid of the dark?

  “What is it?” Ariana asked. “Something to do with the blackout?”

  “I think so.”

  Ariana tipped the phone toward her and read the message. “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “No other messages?” she asked sharply.

  He shook his head and grimaced in the darkness. “My phone vibrated while we were dancing. I ignored it.”

  She could have come back with the comment that he should have been tending to business. But before she could say anything, the door to the kitchen opened with a loud thud.

  Everybody in the room turned toward the sound. In the flickering glow from the candlelight, they could see that four tuxedoed men had entered the room and slammed the door behind them to draw attention to their presence.

  When one of them briefly turned on a flashlight, everybody in the room saw that he and his companions were armed with assault weapons and night-vision goggles.

  “All of you into the center of the room!” he shouted, his voice a grating command.

  Instead of obeying, people went stock-still. Stunned silence was followed by a babble of voices.

  Once again, the man’s command cut through the noise. “Into the center of the room if you don’t want to get hurt!”

  Frozen in place, Ariana whispered, “Mon Dieu.”

  Shane shared the sentiment, but he had no intention of letting her be herded into a central location, since he had no idea what the men with assault weapons intended.

  “Come on,” he whispered.

  They were in the wrong part of
the room to try for the main entrance, and the gunmen were blocking the kitchen door. But he had another idea.

  Taking Ariana’s hand again, he lost no time in tugging her away from the crowd and toward a space he’d found when he’d searched the room last night.

  It was a slot in the wall where room dividers had once been folded when not in use. The dividers had been removed from the reception area, but the slot remained, and Shane hoped to hell it would make a good hiding place.

  As he moved Ariana swiftly through the crowd, he could imagine what Ty Jones and the other Secret Service agents were doing right now. Could they get the president and vice president out of the reception area? Or were they stuck with his method of hiding and hoping for the best?

  One more question about Ty circled in Shane’s mind. Had his old friend gotten the same text message? Are you afraid of the dark?

  Various scenarios raged through his thoughts as the armed men ruthlessly herded the guests into the center of the room.

  Shouts of “Move it!” and “Hurry up,” were accompanied by hard shoves.

  When an older man stumbled, one of the assailants kicked him and ordered him onto his feet.

  “My heart,” the victim shouted.

  “Quiet! Move.”

  The man scrambled up, and Shane wondered if the guy was going to make it out of the room alive—whether or not the bad guys shot him.

  Who were these guys, anyway? And how had they gotten past the tight security and into the reception?

  His mind flashed to the waitstaff that had earlier been passing champagne and canapés. Had these four men come in with the catering company? On the face of it, the plan seemed damned ballsy. But he knew that these thugs had done something few men would attempt at a reception attended by both the president and the vice president of the United States.

  They must have been up here previously casing the tower. With part of his mind, Shane wondered what would have happened if he’d run into them yesterday.

  That was then and this was now.

  In the darkness, Shane kept moving, pulling Ariana away from the center of the action. Yet he couldn’t keep a tiny doubt from creeping into his mind. Was he going the right way or turned around in the dark?